


Blood on the Tiles

by lesbeeian



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Non-Graphic Violence, Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-03
Updated: 2016-11-03
Packaged: 2018-08-28 19:03:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8459359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lesbeeian/pseuds/lesbeeian
Summary: Emily has already lost her kingdom, How can she deal with the possibility of losing her father as well?





	

**Author's Note:**

> I thought about how what if when you pick, who you want to play as in the game, the other character might become unavailable for some particular reason and this came out of it. Also I'm sad all the time about Emily Kaldwin.

Blood on the tiles. 

In her dreams it was always blood on the tiles. White and stark except for the huge mass of blood and body splayed in the middle of it all. Blood and white and steel, those were what her dreams were made of.

Emily had nightmares for 15 years. And every night for 15 years she could always be reassured by her father shaking her awake for training. They would train in the early mornings and as the grey mist faded into the morning so did the blood and tiles, replaced by the sound of her father's voice.

But now with Delilah standing in the middle of the throne room with a sword shoved directly through her father's ribs, there was no light of the morning to wake up to.

"Father!" The cry came too late.

Blood on the tiles. She was 10 years old again, in her dreams again, powerless again. Again again again. 

15 years of history was replaying itself in front of her eyes. 

Delilah dropped her father like her was nothing but a minor inconvenience, like he was already an empty body. She was smiling. She thought she had won.

Emily went on autopilot. This would not happen again. She would not witness another person be lost to her. She would not be made to be alone again. Before she was young and weak, but she was not young anymore, not weak anymore.

At least that was what she had to tell herself.

Somewhere in the back of her head she could hear guards gathering all around her, but for now all her mind could think about was the body on the floor full of steel. Her father on the floor. 

Her father on the floor.

Her father on the floor.

Her mother on the floor.

She was smoke and shadow, she was bone and nothing, she was pure rage. Power was flowing through her veins. She rushed towards her father's body and grabbed him with hands of smoke that seemed to extrude from her very being. Hands trained to kill, being used to carry. The killing would come later. Emily spotted an open window at the top of the throne room. Still carrying her father, she grappled to the open window and hoisted herself above. shots were ringing in her ears and she could hear the sounds of confusion below her, but as she looked down at Delilah a new feeling of cold came across her. 

Delilah's face seemed shaken but only slightly. It was the face of someone who still thought this was a game and the rules had just gotten more interesting. 

"Run little girl, take your father," she spat the word out like it was poison. "I have already taken what I need from you." And with that she motioned for the guards to follow them. She had dismissed them already.

Emily was already gone, vaulting off the roof. She was still carrying her father's body, running on a mix of adrenaline and power. As soon as she could no longer hear the sound of guards behind her, she collapsed in a heap. 

Her father was cold, so cold. Blood was still pouring out of the gaping wound in his side, it was a miracle he had lived this long. What could she do? How could she stop history from repeating itself over and over. How could she stop her life from just being a series of tragedies looping over and over in her head. But maybe that wasn't important right now, what was important was getting making sure her father would live until morning.

She tore her sleeve and wrapped it around Corvo's wound. She took out a vial of elixir, something she had been trained to never leave home without and poured some into his mouth. Her father had often told her stories about his days during the height of the plague when he would use this elixir to give himself an edge in fights. Maybe it would help him now.

She could hear his voice in her head. 

"One day I might not be around to protect you." This had startled her the first time he had said it. He had always been there. Even after her mother had died, even when she had been trapped in a dark place, she had known he would come for her. The world was uncertain, but he was not. But as she grew older, as she started to see age on his face this was something she had started to accept. But not like this. He would not be killed by a witch. He would die somewhere warm and peaceful. He would die sometime far off. But most importantly he would not die like her mother. That would simply not happen.

"Emily," She looked down. He was awake. Bloody and caked with sweat, but awake. And the bleeding had stopped somewhat from the wound. "Emily." he repeated.

"Yes Corvo," her voice barely came out.

"I'm sorry that I couldn't protect you this time." She flinched.

"You have nothing to be sorry for, this is what you have always tried to prepare me for."

He chuckled grimly "Yes but at risk of sounding like a parental cliche, there is a difference between preparing your child for something and actually seeing them go through with it."

He coughed. A harsh sound. She could tell it was taking up most of his energy, just to talk with her. She shushed him. "Its alright Corvo, just rest. We can think of what to do later. For now... we just have to rest." And it was true they did. But movement was inevitable and Emily was afraid of what that would bring.

However for now she just sat with her father as he coughed and tried to keep her mind from receding into itself. The witch would pay. For her father, for her kingdom, for herself.

Outside she could hear the sounds of a guard questioning a man. The questioning was short lived however, as the guard lost his temper and promptly slit the man's throat.

A child was crying. She wondered how many other people dreamed of blood and if a new nightmare had just began.


End file.
